


INTERLUDE: In Which the Losers Socratically Rank Their Fathers in Order of Fuckability

by lamphouse



Series: so bourgeoisie to keep waiting [5]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: After Party, Banter, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Homoeroticism, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, No Plot/Plotless, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Post-Canon, Well Your Dad Jokes, adult friendship, your mom jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25476490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamphouse/pseuds/lamphouse
Summary: It's technically the after party for the first ever Beverly Marsh Fall Line, but let's be honest, if all of the Losers are there that's all any of them are thinking about. Also if all the Losers are there, things are bound to get a little out of control. It's only right.Beverly kicks ass and kicks back. Richie and Eddie are in love. Bill does a little speech. No one's dad is safe.(Can be read as standalone.)
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak & Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon & Richie Tozier, The Losers Club & The Losers Club (IT)
Series: so bourgeoisie to keep waiting [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582396
Comments: 14
Kudos: 107





	INTERLUDE: In Which the Losers Socratically Rank Their Fathers in Order of Fuckability

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all! this is technically a spin-off from chapter 4 of my fic "[make it up as we go along](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24397549/chapters/61452481)" but can be totally read on its own, no background necessary.
> 
> (the mentions of past abuse are, naturally, tom, but it's not detailed and not about anything physical/sexual)
> 
> (oh I forgot to mention! I hate what they did to mike in the movie so I gave him back his backstory from the book! so that's how they've all met mike's dad. I usually crib a lot from the book in general but that's kind of a big one, sorry I forgot to point it out earlier!)

The Beverly Marsh Inaugural Fall Line Launch Party. Standing at a table on the far side of the room, sleek glass in her hand, Bev keeps rolling the words around in her head, feeling the weight of them, the shiny pride. _The_ Beverly Marsh Fall Line. The _Beverly Marsh_ Fall Line. It has a name—

(Totally incongruous with the actual look, the programs and press releases all say "Beverly Marsh FW 2016: 'Two Birds'." She thinks Stan would have liked it, the beauty without the violence—or at least, with violence only implied. She could hit them with one stone if need be, Beverly Marsh is an excellent shot, but she doesn't need anymore. Lay down your arms, and all that.)

—but she can't stop thinking of it this way. Beverly Marsh. The Beverly Marsh. Hers and only hers.

She's never had a solo show before—something completely her own, everything she and only she wanted. Hell, she'd barely had a career when she met Tom as a PA for a regional head of Delia's that, in retrospect, Bev should have listened to when she told Bev to stay and "work her way up," she said carefully, "on her own." At the time Bev had thought it was just to keep her around, but that incredibly subtle emphasis rings in her ears tonight. Her own. All her own.

It turns out, though, she could do it by herself without having to do it alone. She has Kay, who takes over her call sheet and inbox when Bev lets slip the kind of bullshit she's getting. She has Ben, who is more than willing to give her space when she has to vent on a dress and burn it in the front lawn of his cabin in the woods. She has her own space and time, but she has people she can reach out to, professionally in people who have been patiently waiting to help how they can and personally in people who didn't know but were waiting for the same thing. And now they've all congregated here to support and celebrate her, Beverly Marsh, as she always wanted to be.

Who that is, Bev doesn't know, but she's excited to find out. She spent the summer stitching together increasingly weird, brightly colored garments, bell sleeve jackets, cutout structured ball gowns, uncomfortably high collars never intended for regular wear—weird couture shit, the opposite of Rogan and Marsh. It doesn't go off without a hitch, but Bev likes it better this way. One model's hair gets snagged in her zipper and Bev had to give her a whole haircut and another's shoes had gotten lost on the way over so Bev had to give her her's, but they had a nice moment about it in the finale when Nisha had stopped at the top and gave them back to Bev, already significantly shorter than her, following barefoot in her wake. It was a little clumsy and a bit loud and a lot satisfying, and then she finally got to see her boys and it was all that and more.

Oh, her boys. God, Bev missed them, missed sitting amidst them and being as loud and stupid and strong as she wants, never having to behave or be something she's not, just Bev, as big and messy a concept as that is. They're there to egg her on and give her hope and catch her if she falls. Just being around them all makes her feel physically different, like her atoms rearrange, electrons snapping into alignment. They haven't all been in one place since Derry—which was admittedly only a few months ago, but now that they can remember each other, any length of time is too long—and it's better than any drug.

She can feel them wherever they are without looking, like she has this eternal Loser radar. Right now Bill is being cornered by Kay by the bar where she's asking him whether they're changing the ending of _Attic Room_ , still in post-production, from the book, which she has no qualms about explaining the shittiness of. Richie had tried to rescue him earlier until he remembered his own last encounter with Kay and hightailed it out of there with some joke about melting ice and polar bears. Bill is doing his damndest to keep up, bending his NDA to tell her as much as he can about the rewrites, but he's not working with a lot of goodwill and it's just kinda fun to see Big Bill faced with someone completely immune to his Bill-ness.

Mike is at their table in the back of the room entertaining a few of Bev's interns and also Ben with stories of his self-discovery road trip through the mystery spots of continental USA, kind and enthusiastic, all three of them in his thrall. He's so alive. He always was, but in Derry he was a fuzzy version of himself, distorted by pain and responsibility and the pressure of the situation, all that passion thrown into one twisted, life-or-death focus now let loose on the world. He sends them pictures of sunsets and weird trees and winding emails, replete with photos of sunsets and weird trees and old books, about the grandmother he met in New Orleans who reburies the neighborhood dead and swears they visit her in her neighboring boarding house, and they all dutifully read them and reply, no matter how teasing those replies are. Ben in particular is a devout reader, always sending back his own travel stories, going back and forth until Eddie has to remind them everyone else is still CC'd, and it transfers to real life here as he hangs on Mike's every word. She loves Ben; she still isn't quite sure how, but having him around is so nice, calming and warm and radiating, and it's nice to kiss someone and not worry about what exactly it means or what he wants from her or what she has to do next. She doesn't know any of those things, which Ben understands and is content to let her figure it out on her own time, because they have that now.

Which of course brings her to Eddie and Richie, who are now across the room, Richie leaning one forearm against the wall and sort of craning over Eddie as he talks about something, Bev can't tell what (he's gesturing adamantly, but it's Eddie, that could mean anything). As she watches, Richie says something that makes Eddie scrunch up, his face and his shoulders pinched around a laugh, or maybe a blush. When Richie says something else, Eddie slaps his side lightly before grabbing his shirt and pulling Richie in to kiss his cheek, which immediately goes red. They're sweet, Bev thinks. Insane and loud and weird, but sweet. Oddly domestic, in a way that isn't so much contrary to their dynamic as it is an extension of it: she once saw them get in a competition over who could hold the other's hand harder. She's never felt as happy for someone else as she does for the two of them, even as she can't believe they ended up the Losers with the most shit figured out.

Bev gets swept away by her own happiness (as well as the demands of networking) before she can follow any of them and share the overwhelming love she feels then. They're all at their table when she finds them again, their things sprawled across the surface with a number of crumpled napkins and empty glasses. Bill and Mike are deep in conversation about some French werewolf and Eddie is trying to listen to Ben's story about his latest site visit while Richie plucks at the front of his turtleneck, all five of their voices tangling together like a warm sonar lighthouse guiding her in.

She slides next to Ben, the chair of coats between her and Richie as the latter says to Eddie's chest, "Miss your tiny buttons."

"Wait, so the foreman—" Eddie waves at his hand. "Hang on, Rich. The foreman really couldn't tell that he was reading it sideways?"

"Apparently! I didn't think it was _that_ avant-garde, but..." Ben shrugs.

"How is that even physically possible? I mean, wouldn't he at least notice the foundations were—?"

This time when Eddie is cut off mid-sentence by Richie it's because the latter has realized Bev is there.

"Beverly Air Marshal! Man of the hour!"

Everyone cheers and claps at this. There is a brief chant of "Bev, Bev, Bev, Bev!" that actually extends out from their little group. She stands again and bows and everyone cheers, a sound that swells in her chest even as it dwindles back down to just the five of them. When she sits back down, everyone is going back to their conversations but Richie, who is now turned to her even as she's busy stealing Bill's drink from across the table.

"Hey Bev." Richie makes a grabby hand at her across the gap between them like he's trying to physically get her attention. "Bev. Bevvie Bevvie lives in the levee."

She turns to face him with an unconscious amused smile. "Drives an old Chevy. What's up, Richard?"

He grabs one of her hands solemnly between both of his. "I know nothing about clothes, business, or the concept of 'fashion', but I think you did a great job and I'm very proud of you."

He's serious and not quite up to his usual level of quippage, and Bev smiles as she raises an eyebrow, knowing exactly how this will get to him. "How drunk _are_ you?"

Richie looks comically offended, but before he can start, Eddie waves them both off.

"Oh, he's fine, he's just sappy by default," he says plainly. "It's part of why I love him so much."

Bev coos and Ben just smiles wide, proud and pleased, as Richie tries to hide his face in Eddie's shoulder. Judging by the smirk that then commandeers Eddie's face, this was the goal. Richie's plan, on the other hand, doesn't work at all; Eddie is angled slightly behind him, his face is too big, everyone's already seen his lopsided blush, but he tries anyway.

When Richie re-emerges he just shakes his head excessively, probably purposefully missing the annoyed look Eddie shoots him when he gets his hair in Eddie's face, before pushing it all back over his head and announcing, "Nope, all done, I'm cutting myself off. I will only be drinking things stolen from other people for the rest of the night."

"Why would that make a difference?" Ben asks.

"Stealing burns calories."

As if to demonstrate, he reaches for Eddie's half empty (Half full? It's a good night.) glass and gets it to his opposite side before Eddie can wrestle past his shoulder.

"Son of a bitch, I was—"

"What's mine is yours."

"Don't chug it, Richie, come on," Mike adds, dragged away from his own conversation when Eddie tries to grab the drink out of Richie's hand and almost kicks Mike next to him.

Richie is definitely still trying to chug it, but Eddie keeps jostling him and he has to hold the glass farther and farther away until it's over both their heads, undrinkable by anyone. Eddie's about two seconds from physically climbing him to retrieve it when Richie says, "Sickness and health, darling," with a strange curl almost like a drawl that makes it sound like an inside joke.

"We're not married," Eddie retorts, but he's blushing, suddenly aware of himself in physical, public space. He doesn't add _yet_ , but anyone paying attention can see it in the weird shine in his eyes.

"No of course," Richie says with suspicious sensibleness, "there's still the issue of polygamy."

"Don't—" Eddie starts, to no avail.

"I hate you had to find out this way, Eds, but you've forced my hand. As ABBA once said, breaking up is never easy to do, and the truth is I never had the heart to end it with your mother..."

He dissolves into breathless giggles when it becomes apparent Eddie is just going to keep silently glaring at him, obviously not expecting to get this far and still out of breath from playing defense. It's not sure whether he's laughing at his own joke or Eddie's face or nothing particular at all—anything is possible at this point—but Eddie does manage to get his glass back and finishes it as he rolls his eyes.

"Another classic joke about my dead mother. Are you _ever_ gonna get any new material?"

"Yeah," Ben chimes in, "shouldn't you at least be making jokes about his dad now?"

"My dad is also dead!" Eddie elbows Richie as he laughs even harder. "And way before I knew pretty much any of you so don't even try."

"I think I met him once," Bill says.

"What, in preschool? You remember that shit?"

Bill shrugs. "A little? Other than th-the clown shit, I have a pretty good memory."

" _Please_ , Bill, tell me more." Richie leans over, both hands on the table. "I need firsthand testimony or else these jokes are never gonna land."

Bill raises both hands in placating defense, deftly dodging Eddie's warning look. "He was a dad, I don't know. It was father's day I think. We made construction p-paper ties, I remember he puh-puh— wore his even though the paint was still wet because when he shook my hand it was purple."

"That's adorable," Ben pitches in, and Mike nods in solemn agreement but something else hangs in the air, something in the half hesitance of Bill's face, the thick quietness from Eddie, the casual puppy-ish anxiety on Richie's face as he glances between them.

"I think he looked a lot like you," Bill adds finally. "Or, you know, you look like huh-him."

Eddie nods at Bill but doesn't still say anything, sinking into the moment. He didn't have much of his father, just a handful of blurry memories, a box from his mother's attic he was forbidden to open and still hasn't touched, and some old matchbox cars. He remembers a thin, tallish man and being dangled upside down as he laughed. He doesn't remember Bill's story, but it's one of the few stories he has that isn't his own, warped by too many years of recollection. He wishes this wasn't happening while he was tipsy, but he'll take what he can get, even if it means having to drag down the mood of Bev's very nice party for a moment.

Under the table, Richie's knee bumps his, and Eddie squeezes it and nods at him too. Richie's hand covers his and squeezes back until Eddie smiles just a little, at which point he says, "Had to get your good looks somewhere."

Eddie's eyebrows quirk as he nods, _he's got a point_ -like, before remembering how they got there. "Still, don't objectify my dead dad."

"Aw, but honey, if you think about it, I'm basically complimenting you."

"Don't talk about how hot my dead dad is! Why is that so hard?"

"Well when a man loves another man _very_ much..."

"Shut the fuck up." Eddie slaps at his shoulder, definitely not trying not to smile and definitely not blushing. "Why can't you ever pick on somebody else's parents?"

Richie, twisted halfway in his chair, slowly slides both arms around Eddie's waist, "They just don't have the same genetic allure..."

Eddie is already laughing when Richie kisses his cheek and doesn't push him away even as it veers into a bit much, just knocking his head against Richie's. The rules are different with the Losers. Propriety doesn't really exist among them, to the point where even Eddie can occasionally not care, so he catches Richie's cheek and pulls him into an actual kiss, deep but brief.

He's quickly given a reason to regret not keeping Richie there, however, when the latter pulls back and adds, "I don't know, though, maybe it's worth thinking about."

"What?" Ben asks. Poor sucker.

"Dads."

"Oh no," Bill starts, "R-Richie—"

Richie straightens up and that something, that stage thing, the thing that makes people's ears strain to hear him and sit up straight before they fall down laughing, turns on. Instead of the usual excitement of watching Richie do his thing, however, it fills the majority with dread—though not an insubstantial amount of schadenfreude excitement too. Eddie, for one, looks like he's preparing to tip Richie out of his chair at any second, but he still can't help the little gleam anticipation in his eyes.

"Professor Richie Tozier presents..."

"Does anyone need another drink?" Mike asks. Bev nods and Mike takes her glass as well as Eddie's, held out gratefully as he passes.

"Based on years of objective, scientific research..."

Bill rubs his forehead long-sufferingly. "I hate this already."

"The Loser fathers, in order of fuckability," Richie finishes as Bill starts shaking his head.

"Richie? Sweetheart? Keep in mind," Eddie says with patience as thin as the ice Richie has run out onto, "these are the only friends you have."

With ceremony and theatrics: "Duly noted, my lovely assistant."

"I want no part of this."

To demonstrate, Eddie crosses his arms and stares pointedly at the far wall.

"Okay." Richie claps/clasps his hands together, looking for all the world like a slightly deranged scientist about to give a lecture on how all deep sea animals are actually aliens. Whether the wildness in his eyes is a specific put-on for the bit or its just Richie's inner mad scientist on display, no one can tell, but it's both intriguing and horrifying how easy it is to imagine him at the front of a lecture hall with a slideshow of insane but convincing proof. "First things first, bottom of the list, Bev's dad."

Everyone nods.

"What a fucking creep," Eddie says darkly, arms folded.

Bev wiggles her fingers at him on the table and smiles when he looks up, mouth shut, eyes squinting, until he mirrors her. One of the better things that's come of her long and torturous divorce proceedings is that she and Eddie have gotten even closer. They're definitely the most... bloodthirsty of the Losers, and it's so cathartic to call him, tell him what insane shit Tom's lawyers tried to pull that day, and just yell at each other about it for a while. They yell about other things too, and do things other than yell, but even their late-night confessional bonding has an unavoidable intensity. Richie calls them the Terror Twins but he always has a lunatic grin on his face when he walks through the background of their FaceTimes and sees their matching wide eyes and hand gestures.

"Down, boy," she says now, tinged with gratitude. She pats the table as close to Eddie as she can get and smiles when he rolls his eyes, falling back in her seat satisfied. Mike returns with their drinks at that moment and they toast, only semi-facetiously.

"Lowest score on every trait," Richie says. "He's like the baseline worst you can do. And with that! Coming in fifth! Mister Zachary Denbrough!"

He says it like a morning show host (a terrifying image) and does his own live audience foley, because he's a hack. Bev claps along in support, though not after glancing at Bill to check. Bill is nodding concedingly the same way Eddie had earlier.

"That's f-fair," he says.

"Right? So, not the scum of the earth, but nothing really special, and..." Richie trails off almost considerately. "May I say 'ratlike'?"

Bill nods. "You may."

"That's a good word for it," Eddie chimes in.

"Remember that year he got really into those battlefield dioramas and we couldn't play ping pong in your garage anymore?"

Bill's nose scrunches in phantom disgust. "The p-p- _paint_ fumes."

"And mid-eighties, dude, you _definitely_ should've got lead poisoning. The dweebiest way to die: secondhand lead poisoning from figurine paint."

Those who joined after Georgie's death knew only glimpses of the changed man, the man who's adult grief was too big and alienating for a kid to be around, but even before then he was a little weird—or, as Richie concluded, "Deeply unfuckable."

"I know it's not my fault, but I'm sorry for technically starting this," Ben says. "If I had known it would mean having to hear Richie say 'fuckable' so many times, I never would've brought it up."

Everyone murmurs with agreement, but softly, as if to say they don't blame Ben. Richie, of course, is still grinning—his cheesy one, with all the teeth.

"It's just such a gross word," Eddie adds, nodding at Ben. "Like, I hate hearing it."

"It has a bad ear f-feel," Bill says.

"Is that the technical term, wordsmith?"

Eddie flips Bill off, but Richie (who has not looked away from Eddie since he spoke) interrupts, "Oh you have problems with my definition of fuckable?" 

"I never said that." Eddie sits back in his chair, one arm crossed while the other holds up his drink in what Richie has called his "Sexy Bitch Pose". Under the table his knee digs into the side of Richie's thigh, which pushes back as Richie's smile shrinks into something more mischievous. "My problem is with the pronunciation, not the usage."

Richie raises an eyebrow. Eddie raises one back, slightly higher, like a challenge. Everyone else goes through a series of exasperated responses at this display, from eye rolling to heavy sighing. As they continue making eyes at each other, Ben looks around at the others, contrite.

"I'm sorry, guys," he says, "I should've known this would happen too. I extra regret this now."

That snaps Richie's attention back, the grin returning. "Well you're about to regret it even more, Benny boy—"

"Oh no."

"—because next up on the list of Maine's Most Fuckable Fathers is Ben's dad, who I've seen literally one picture of once, thirty years ago in his living room. Not much to say there, I mean, he obviously had stellar genetics—"

Ben blushes until Bev fans his face and he laughs.

"—but also he was in some kind of military uniform and morally I can't support that."

"He was a Marine," Ben says. "That's actually how he died, in Lebanon." He shrugs. "But I get it."

"Jesus Christ, dude," Richie says, Eddie and Mike next to him looking like they're glad he said it so they didn't have to.

Bill nods morosely as if he expected it (which he probably did, the morbid bastard) but Bev's reaction is the oddest of the bunch. She pats Ben's arm lightly, automatically, but looking at her eyes it's obvious this is news to her too. Theirs is not a relationship prone to dwelling; it's oddly present-oriented for two people who last saw each other at thirteen, glossing over the intervening twenty-seven years aside from the occasional anecdote thrown out to explain a present day reaction.

"It's true." Ben shrugs. "Basically the only thing I know about him—that and he collected silver dollars since he was a kid. That's where I got mine."

Richie blinks and blinks and blinks. "Alright, well, way to bring down the mood."

"I'm sorry," he says again, and Ben's apologies are always so damn sincere, everyone frowns. "No, no, I take it back! Pretend it never happened."

Richie, who has never let anything go in his entire life, throws his hands up. "Well now I feel guilty!"

"Oh, _that_ makes you feel guilty?" Eddie says, and the energy in the room rebounds immediately. "That's where you draw the line?"

"Eddie baby, there's _the_ line, and then there's _your_ line, which is a circle just around you that means even when you're on the other side, you're technically on the right side of the line."

"What the fuck does that even mean?"

Everyone looks similarly confused, including Richie, who seems to have lost his point somewhere halfway through the sentence, but Mike leans past Eddie to squint across at Richie. "Like the Vatican?"

Richie lights up with offense. "Mikey, please enlighten me as to how anything I've ever said could be remotely connected to the Vatican."

"It's an enclave, one sort of territory completely surrounded by another." He demonstrates by drawing an imaginary map on the table. "So if Italy is 'over the line' territory, Eddie is a separate bubble within it that's okay. Like an embassy."

"I like that." Richie nods, first at Mike and then at Eddie (who is still shaking his head morosely). "Hear that, babe, you're the Vatican. You're Hong Kong! You're the Eddican Embassy!"

"What are you, Cole Porter?"

Before he can break into song, Bev reorients him as effectively as if she'd stood behind him and physically turned him in place. "The list, Richie, finish the list."

"Yes! Where were we?"

"Third."

There's a moment as Richie visibly does some mental calculus before sinking back into an almost dejected presenter's stance.

"Third, and I'm so sorry to say this," Richie sighs, "my dearly departed father-in-law."

Eddie's head snaps back up at that. "Wait, really?"

Bev and Bill ooh ominously from the other side of the table as Richie puts his hands up placatingly.

"Third?!"

"Okay, listen. Obviously he gets points for being your dad," Richie starts. "Like any collector, I understand the value of a complete set."

"You disgust me," Eddie says.

"And if he looked like you then yes, of course, gorgeous, top of the list," Richie continues unperturbed by Eddie's glare. "But, much like Benjamin's father, I never met him, so I don't know what he was like. And personality is _so_ important in attraction, you know that."

Richie taps his nose but gets shaken off immediately. "Do I?"

When it becomes apparent that pouting is going to get him nowhere, Richie hangs his arm around the back of Eddie's chair and says, "Babydoll, you know if I was gonna rank the Losers proper you'd be number one."

Eddie keeps his arms crossed, but does turn his head to face Richie. "Don't lie to me. We've all seen Ben and Mike."

Everyone but Ben and Mike nods, while the aforementioned two look embarrassed mixed with feigned boredom and pleasant surprise respectively.

"Okay, but they barely even count," Richie continues. "They're like their own separate category of freakish hotness. In the mortal human category, you're number one."

Eddie keeps looking at him like he doesn't buy it, but there's a twitch of a smile in the corner of his mouth that only grows when Richie sort of goofily tiptoes his fingers across the warm skin of Eddie's crossed forearm with a pleading look.

"Yeah Eddie, you're totally hot," Bev chimes in. "Way hotter than Bill."

At that, Eddie does genuinely smile, turning to her to say, "Flattery will get you everywhere, Beverly," before telling Richie somberly, "I will accept third place."

Ben tamps his glass celebratorily as Bev and Mike cheer and Richie gratefully kisses his cheek, right over the scar.

While Bill is asking generally if he should feel insulted, Richie stays close to bump noses as he says quietly, "First place in my heart."

"Disgusting," Eddie whispers back with his own smirk before shoving Richie's face away and turning exactly ninety degrees to yell at Bill, "Why, do facts insult you?"

Before the ensuing clamor can go too far, Richie cuts in again.

"In second place, in second— Hey!"

From her more advantageous position, Bev leans past Ben to snap her fingers in Bill's face on Richie's behalf.

"Thank you, Beverly. I know we're a bunch of howler monkeys with adult ADHD, but can we seriously not make it through a five point list? Is that beyond our capabilities?"

"Maybe," Mike says, "if you didn't stop every three sentences to go on a flirting tangent with Eddie, those five points wouldn't take longer than our attention spans."

Richie flops back in his chair, hand held over his stomach as if clenching the handle of a blade. " _Brutal_ , Mikey. To the quick. But I can't help it! Look at him!"

Eddie preens but Mike just shakes his head. "Of course you'd say that."

"Just because you're not getting any—" Eddie starts, but Richie quickly cuts him off for all their sakes.

"In second place," Richie says one last time, "gotta be Rabbi Uris."

"Man, you're totally going to hell now," Mike shakes his head. Richie, having spent a not insignificant amount of his life worrying about going to hell for various other things, just shrugs.

Opposite him, Bev leans back, intrigued. "Interesting. Say more."

"One," Richie ticks off a finger, "great hair."

"Yes!" Bill, who may be drunk, thunks his glass on the table for emphasis. "I was _always_ juh-jealous of Stan's hair, it was _so_ good, so like... curly and s-soft. Great hair, all around."

"Yes, okay, thank you, Bill," Richie says gratefully, if a little intrigued. "Someone gets it."

Next to him Eddie has the same expression, turned slightly towards Richie as if in conversation, but also says nothing more.

"What about your precious personality criteria?" Ben asks.

Richie shrugs magnanimously and leans back in his chair. "What can I say? I love a disciplinarian."

Eddie is already shaking his head in slow disappointment when Richie turns his waggling eyebrows on him. "No."

"Eh? Eh?"

"Absolutely not."

On his other side, Mike nudges Eddie lightly with a much subtler but equally conspiratorial look—a look Eddie answers with the most betrayed expression ever seen on a human face.

In an admittedly odd attempt at keeping the peace, Bev says, "I always thought he seemed like kind of a jerk."

Mike is still snickering and Eddie keeps looking at him with his big hurt eyes, but it nabs Richie and Bill's attentions, which are usually all one needs—if Richie's comic semaphore wasn't enough to get everyone's attention, the incidental pull of thinking Bill found something important would do the trick.

"He wuh-wasn't _mean_ , just..."

"A grown up," Richie finishes.

"Stern." Bill rolls his glass between two hands and takes a long look at the table before him. "Serious, like Stan was serious, but because he was an adult th-th-the— Everything was more intimidating."

"So as an adult you'd just think he had a stick up his ass?"

Bill rolls his eyes. "Sure, Richie."

"Okay then, I would like to revise my ranking." Richie spreads his hands as Bev leans forward eagerly. "Messrs. U and K are tied for second."

"Tied?!" Richie flinches at something unseen, most likely Eddie stomping on his foot or something. "Fucking tied?!"

"For second, babe, come on!" He flinches again, this time from the visible attack of Eddie's elbow to his side, which everyone else winches at too; the man has elbows so bony they should be registered as lethal weapons. "Ack. Eddie. Mercy."

He eventually lets up with a guilty blush when Bev starts doing WWE-style commentary (which is concerningly easy for everyone to imagine), but Richie continues theatrically groaning long after. They're definitely getting some odd looks from the surrounding tables, but it's Bev's party and she'll goad her friends into loud antics if she wants to.

"Wait, so..." Ben does a quick headcount. "That means Mike..."

"Oh no," Mike says as Richie starts doing a variety of 70s game show-esque bells and whistles.

"Lady and gentlemen we have a winner," he says in a voice that's half Don Pardo and half, inexplicably, Jerry Seinfeld, the combination of which is deeply disorienting but understandably projects very well (someone outside their circle laughs, though no one inside notices). "Will Hanlon, come on down!"

Eddie pats Mike's shoulder, then his cheek, which is very warm. "I know, I know, it's unbearable. But you'll survive! You have to."

"Things I know about Mike's dad, all of which are hot," Richie begins as Mike slumps over to groan into his arms. "Kind eyes. Good with animals. One time in high school I got a flat tire and Mike called him to help us change it and I almost passed out."

Mike yells and Bill pats his other shoulder, Richie's grin widening as Bev chimes in, "Wish he would carry me like one of those sheep."

"This is hell, I'm in hell," Mike tells the table. "Beep, beep, beep."

"Sorry, Mike, but your dad was a total babe," Bev says, again unhelpful. Almost like she's not trying to be, like she delights in chaos...

Bill pats him one more time before scooching his glass into Mike's hand. When he realizes what his hand has reflexively grasped, Mike resurfaces to take a drink. He deliberately does not look at Richie's ever widening grin, focused instead on the coolness of the lingering ice cubes as he presses the glass to his cheek.

"Also: Great taste in music, always a plus. Great smile. Tall—I remember him being almost as tall as my dad so like—" Richie gestures. "My height-ish. Check."

"You know, you keep using 'tall' as a dec— determ-mining factor," Bill says, "and yet..."

Bill doesn't have to say or do anything else before Eddie lurches back up in his seat, glaring at him. "Hey! What the fuck!"

"I'm just saying!"

"Fuck you! Say that to my face, asshole."

"I thought I was," Bill says with what seems to be genuine confusion. Bill, they had all quickly learned, was a lightweight, but no one could ever bear to spoil his fun. They'll spoil it in other ways (as evidenced by Eddie's attempts to stand then) but drunk Bill is loose and happy and unburdened, and no one wants to ruin that for him.

"It's an objective measure!" Richie interrupts, reaching over to push Eddie back into his chair. "Easy there, Sparky. I'm not saying only tall people are hot, just that most people think taller people are hotter. I'm being scientific."

"You're being a dick," Eddie says.

Richie's face falls into nonexpression. "Literally what did I do. Bill's the one who called you short."

"He's shorter than me," Eddie folds his arms blithely, "it doesn't count."

"Two seconds ago you were totally ready to throw down."

Bev shakes her head sagely. "Short on short violence. It's different."

When she also does not get reprimanded, Richie gestures bewilderedly but receives no support, Bev being the smallest Loser.

"Okay, well, still. I think we can all agree that Mike's dad was pretty sexy," he continues over Mike's renewed groans. "'We' meaning everyone but Mike."

Before he can get to his florid conclusion, though, Ben says, "Now, hold on, Richie. What about _your_ dad?"

"My dad's alive, he's off-lim—" Richie tries, but he's quickly drowned out.

"Bill's dad is alive," Eddie interrupts. Bill nods his confirmation, though he doesn't seem too bothered about it either way. "Stan's might be too, I dunno, but that can't be disqualifying."

"Yeah, if we're being comprehensive," Ben points out, while Mike adds, "You can't just leave out the data you don't like, professor."

"If anything he should get extra points for being alive," Bill adds diplomatically. It's unclear whether he's playing along with the bit or is actually sincere. It's Bill and he's drunk, could be either.

"Loses some for the name, though," Eddie says. "I mean, Wentworth? What is he, a butler?"

Richie, whose middle name that is, stifles a snort before pouting. Eddie is still looking at Bill, but the smile in the corner of his mouth says he noticed. He has a sixth sense for that kind of thing. Well, his sixth sense is his infallible internal compass, but knowing when he's got Richie with something is the seventh one at least.

"But he's tall," Bev points out. "And he's a doctor, he's got that going for him."

"He's a _dentist_ ," Richie says, "and retired," but she just waves him off.

"Is it weird that all of us saw him as kids?" Mike muses. "Like he had his hands—" He does a gesture like he's turning a doorknob perpendicular to how doorknobs usually go, and even then not quite right. "With gloves, but still..."

" _Ew_." Despite the high pitch, the word echoes heavily through the room, shaking a bodily cackle from Bev. "Gross! We were— _Kids_ , don't make it weird."

"Oh you don't like people making jokes about fucking your parents?" Eddie raises his eyebrows at Richie, who is too busy shaking his head rapidly with his eyes shut to notice. "This isn't enjoyable for you?"

"I remember the first time I saw him was after that summer," Ben jumps in, "and I was nervous because I hadn't been to the dentist in a while. I told him that and he just hummed and started counting my teeth, but he got to thirty and trailed off with this shocked face. And when I asked what was wrong, he just said, 'Mr Hanscom, I think you might be the first boy to ever reach the eighth grade with both his baby _and_ adult teeth,' and it made me laugh so hard I almost bit his finger off."

"Sense of humor," Bev says. "So important."

Eddie nods sagely and emphatically at that, which distracts Richie with sweet feelings long enough for Bill to conclude, "Y-you know, I think that makes Richie's dad the most fuckable dad. All in favor?"

"Wait—"

Everyone raises their hands. "Aye."

Their laughter is the sweetest death knell Richie has ever heard. If he's dying, he's dying at the hands of his friends, which, all things considered? Isn't the worst. There are a few times in his life where he actually would've looked forward to this if he'd known it was an option.

"Aw, Richie, we love you," Bev says, leaning across the empty chair between them to rub his shoulder. "Just not as much as we love your dad."

Richie shrugs his shoulders up comically high, about two seconds away from hiding his face. It's not from embarrassment, it's... overwhelming fondness for his friends. He loves them, always, which is not necessarily separate from feeling fond, but it's moments like these that remind him that he doesn't just love _them_ , he loves _being_ with them too. He loves that they'll give him as good as they get, that they know just which buttons to push, that they're loud and pushy and his very best friends in action as well as word.

Richie has never been good at being alone, but he's also not great at being with people, not anymore. He's getting better, though.

Amidst the laughter their conversations splinter off, Richie still silently overwhelmed, and Eddie's hand lands just above his knee, patting twice condescendingly before his thumb rubs slowly along the outside of Richie's leg. That's Eddie to a T: a little mean, a little sexy, and a lot loving. 

"Rich."

Richie's face turns to him like a sunflower, glowing the second their eyes meet despite Eddie's unimpressed expression.

"You brought this upon yourself," he smirks slightly, "you know that, right?"

"I flew too close to the sun." Richie tries to pout even though he knows it's unconvincing from the start; he knows when he's been beat, but he also knows when he's got every good thing in his life at one table and he's not going to just ignore that. "Hoisted on my own petard. Butted by my own joke. How will you ever respect me now?"

"Who says I did in the first place?" Eddie retorts, but he's already shifting in his chair to fully face Richie, and he holds out his hands a moment later. "C'mere, dummy."

When Eddie kisses his forehead, Richie sort of... melts, right into his hands. His head droops and his eyes close as he sighs quietly. Everyone else is doing their own thing now—Ben and Mike building something out of empty glasses, Bill and Bev arguing jovially about some mutual famous friend's appearance that night—but he keeps quiet anyway as he leans into Eddie's next kiss.

"Silly Putty baby," Eddie says, pulling one of his cheeks.

"I'm melting," Richie mumbles, almost like Margaret Hamilton. When Eddie laughs silently against his nose, Richie smiles and bumps him, wrapping his arms around Eddie's middle. There's a clattering yell from Mike and Ben's towering model but Richie doesn't hear it, too busy focusing on his hand trailing slowly up and down the soft fabric covering Eddie's back in that sort of drunk, fascinated attention.

He's zoning out when Eddie flicks his ear and says, "Richie Tozier Presents: a Taste of His Own Medicine."

Richie sticks his tongue out, which (by virtue of their proximity) barely brushes Eddie's chin. Thankfully Eddie's inhibitions have been lowered enough that he only laughs, leaning back just enough to rub his chin with the back of his hand before bumping their foreheads together again. Richie sways them back and forth slightly, like the first overtures of a county fair Viking ship ride, and is subsequently lost in their own little world.

Though the conversations have bounced around them blurrily, Mike's voice pops out then to say, "Well I vote Eddie and Richie for Cutest Losers."

Eddie ducks his head— _into_ Richie's, though the latter is already rearing back to laugh at Bev's immediate indignant sound. When he reemerges he flips Mike off but the damage is done as both Bill and Richie coo loudly.

He shoves Richie's big eyes away first. "What are you looking at? That includes you, asshole."

"Aw, everybody knows who brings the adorability to this relationship, Eds." Eddie unfortunately is unable to completely duck Richie's cheek pinch as his chair clatters back into Mike's, who is already laughing. "You really put the 'cute' in 'acute anxiety', baby."

While Richie and Eddie continue to poke and swat at each other lovingly, Ben looks pensive (and fond).

"I think Richie contributes to the cuteness," he says, only after Eddie has gotten Richie in a fatal headlock/noogie combination. They freeze like deer in headlights, which even Mike can't stifle a little laugh at, as Ben continues, "Secretly I think Richie's really sincere; he's always doing things for Eddie and saying nice things about him like they're jokes but everyone can tell they're not."

Richie's current vantage point makes it easy to hide his face in Eddie's side, forehead thunking against his ribs. Eddie still has one arm over him and when he starts to laugh too he slumps until he's draped over Richie, heavy and warm like when he falls asleep against Richie's back.

"Richie's very devoted," Mike agrees, looking only at Ben. Richie squirms. "You even mention Eddie and his whole face changes, it's like the fucking sun rises."

"Ha," Eddie says into the crown of Richie's head, "suck it."

Richie tips his head back until his chin digs into Eddie's side. He gives Eddie a semi-lascivious _I mean, if you're offering..._ face but flushes when Eddie just makes the same face back, for some reason not expecting it even though he knows Eddie always gives as good as he gets.

"Hello?" Bev says, waving around herself. "There's really no competition?"

As Richie sits up to laugh properly, Bill turns to Mike, who—as progenitor of this discussion—decides the rules. "Specifically couples?"

Mike shrugs. "Sure."

"Hm. Still Richie and Eddie."

Bev makes that noise of indignation again. "Rude!"

"It's equality," Eddie shouts at the same as Richie says, "Reparations, baby!" When they each realize what the other said, they high five and start laughing.

Bev folds her arms and squints at Bill. " _That's_ cuter? Really?"

He shrugs. "Kinda."

Eddie starts laughing harder, unperturbed even as Bev dips her fingers in Ben's water and flicks it in his face. Richie is sort of propping him up at that point and feigning dabbing at his own eyes, which are admittedly tearing up, and Bill watches this before shrugging again.

"It's d-different," he says. "It's a different kind of cute. They're like... kids."

Bill is talking, so everyone listens. It's always been like that, but as adults, as someone skilled in language, it's impossible to look away. Bev's indignance dwindles to a smolder; Richie and Eddie have stilled, leaning on each other and not looking even a bit embarrassed (if they're both being honest, there's still a glee in getting the great Big Bill's approval); Mike is leaning forward with both elbows on the table, a look on his face like he's trying to memorize every word. It's not as important, maybe, as the things they've learned to listen to Bill on—that's the hardest thing to learn, not to give in to fear and solemnity when they're all gathered together—but it's even nicer for that, lower their standard for importance to less than world-ending taking the weight off their shoulders.

"They're the same," Bill continues, "as when we met, just... louder. In general, I guess, since their voices carry more, but louder about what they feel." He turns to look at Richie and Eddie directly. "There was always something different about you two, something that the yelling and shoving was supposed to cover up but didn't really. I was so used to it I thought it was just you guys, but now I know it's love, because it's the same thing but unhidden. Clearer. And cute, and loud, and weird, but that's because it's you. I can't imagine either of you being in love in any way other than like this."

Richie speaks first.

"Jesus Christ, Bill."

"Yeah, what the fuck, man," Eddie says immediately, wiping away a tear like he genuinely has no clue how it got there.

Richie notices this and points. "You made Eddie cry! Eddie doesn't cry!"

"I cry, asshole, just—"

"No, I know," Richie pats his shoulder, Eddie trampling the middle of his sentence with, "I have, like, emotions," before Richie adds, "I know, sweetheart, I love your emotions."

(Ben is also tearing up, but he seems neither surprised nor perturbed by this fact.)

"But Bill, seriously," Richie continues. "Starting to rethink my choice of Best Man. Dude, if you're gonna make everyone cry, like—"

"Wait, what? Since when is Bill gonna be _your_ Best Man? I called dibs."

"Hey!' Bev chimes in. "What the fuck?"

"You so didn't!"

"I so did, when—"

"You're not even engaged!" Bill says around a laugh, but they all know that doesn't matter. They've basically been a given since they first got together; only a month or so in Richie had made a joke about foreseeing Eddie's future as a groomzilla and visibly lit up when no one said anything. After that it was incessant, with an antsy, _tempting fate, I know, but I just_ have _to say it_ energy that has waned over the months but still hasn't wholly disappeared (and probably won't ever, to be honest). One day Richie and Eddie will get married. That much all of them know.

Over him, Bev says, "Again, I'm right here!"

"Bev, you know I love you," Richie pats her hand, "but I also know that if you're _my_ Best Man, I'm gonna get the brunt of your roasting, and I don't know if I can handle that."

"And you think if Eddie picks me you'll be magically off the hook?"

"No, no, I know I'll still get mortified. I've accepted that. I'm just hoping then the focus will be on him."

"Well now that you've said that it's definitely going to be on you anyway," Bev points out as Richie starts bobbing like an agreeable bobble head, "so pick me."

She then adds in a truly terrible impression of the French Canadian dude from Twin Peaks, "Bite the bullet, baby."

Bill and Mike completely lose it, Mike's clapping loud enough to fill the room in a nice way, unselfconscious. Richie is shaking his head disappointedly but he concedes, saying, "Alright, alright, but two conditions. First, leave the voices to me."

"Sure," Bev agrees. "Wouldn't want to upstage you at your own wedding."

"Exactly. Two, no consulting Ben. There's a reason he's not on the shortlist and that is because—" He turns an apologetic look on Ben's burgeoning pout. "No, Ben, buddy, that is because I'm already gonna cry enough at this thing, I don't need you talking about true love on top of that, you little poet."

"I'm not a poet," Ben says. He folds his arms but he's smiling; outside of the actual game, Ben's never had much of a poker face. "You write one haiku once and you never hear the end of it."

"You have the heart of a poet, the _soul_ , the— Poetic sensibility."

"Richie," Bev's face folds into a _sorry not sorry_ grimace, "I hate to say it, but you kinda do too. All the jokes in the world can't hide your romantic streak, Tozier! We're onto you."

Everyone nods, especially Eddie, who says, "I don't know why he thinks he's gonna get out of this wedding unscathed, but he does."

"Oh I know I'm fucked either way, I just don't want you to feel too embarrassed and regret marrying me so soon. We should at least get to keep the honeymoon, right?"

Eddie rolls his eyes and smacks Richie's shoulder. "Shut the fuck up, you don't embarrass me."

"Really? Cuz I'm definitely trying to. Remember that taxi—?"

A full body shiver from Eddie. "Nevermind, I hate you."

"You literally don't, Big Bill just said so."

"Oh, well if Bill said it, it must be true."

"Basically, yeah!" Richie throws his hands up—well, only one hand. The other is conspicuously absent under the table and everyone gives him a second's worth of dubious looks.

"If Bill told you to jump off a cliff—"

"He literally did, all the time, and we both—"

"Oh my god, shut up," Bev interrupts with a groan, "we get it, you're in love."

Eddie sticks his tongue out at her as Bill says, "I can't buh-believe those two are the closest we have to a functional adult relationship in this group."

"Someone's gotta do it," Richie says, stretching up to get his chin on top of Eddie's head. Eddie gives them a smug smile with his eyes closed and says nothing.

For an entire two seconds all is calm—or at least as calm as it gets for them, though they're admittedly better as adults. Then Ben, quiet, on the other side of the table, says, " _I_ can't believe Richie got through that entire thing without a single 'daddy' joke."

The table erupts.

"Don't give him _ideas_!"

"Fuck! All those missed opportunities..."

"I'm not mad, just disappointed."

"Ben, holy s-shit."

"I'm just saying!"

"Do you think it's maybe because it would hit too close to home?"

"MIKE."

Chaos ensues, but they wouldn't have it any other way. Besides, it's their party—it's Bev's party, but it's theirs, because she wants it that way; doing it by herself but not alone—and they'll yell if they want to. They've earned that at least.

**Author's Note:**

> picking tags for this was so hard like... nothing happens, man, idk what to tell you. hopefully it was fun tho! honestly I kept trying to wrap up scenes but none of them would shut up and I was having fun so hopefully some of you did too
> 
> tumblr @[lamphous](http://lamphous.tumblr.com)  
> twitter @[Iamphouse](https://twitter.com/Iamphouse)


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